Drabbles
by JustAnotherAuthorDurping
Summary: A collection of various Sparrabeth drabbles taking place before, after, or during the movies.
1. Jack

A/N: I just sort of had a random feeling to start a series of random Sparrabeth drabbles

_A/N: I just sort of had a random feeling to start a series of random _**Sparrabeth**_ drabbles. These __**are not**__ forming any story of some sort, their just random little snippets that won't leave my head, so please no reviews asking 'What's going on? This doesn't make sense' or I shall surely rip my hair out. So enjoy. I don't know how long this'll be; probably long. __**Oh, and I love reviews.**_

**Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I hate to say.**

**Jack:**

It consumed her, from deep within, spreading through her veins, taking control of every vestige of her body. She had no coherent thought, her mind completely blank, filled with only the man who was turning her very blood on fire, making her body go numb; she was in his complete control.

He was not the man she had married in the middle of the maelstrom, all those years ago. He was not the sweet, gentle, naïve man whom she had fallen in love with when she was a mere child, the boy whom she had, when she was little, dreamed of being with forever. He was not the man who wished to live in a quaint little cottage by the sea, growing old together in a peaceful town, watching their kids grow, before being put to rest next to each other for all eternity. No, he was none of those things; he was much more.

He is enrapturing, clever, mysterious, his heart guarded well with a wall of frivolous acts, though she could knock them down. Freedom is what he was, the pure embodiment of it, with his sea-worn attire, his braided hair adorned with trinkets, and his body a canvas of scars and tattoos, each depicting a different tale. He was alluring, capturing her interest from the day she met him. He was a pirate, taking what ever he could and giving nothing back, venturing across the seven seas seeking adventure and what he wanted most. His life was fueled by freedom and adventure, keeping his cocky attitude forever in place. She loved every bit of him for he was every bit as imperfect as herself.

His name was whispered in abandon on her tongue, her mind barely comprehending what surely had to be sins he was performing upon her. His brown eyes met hers as he pulled his lips from hers, and she stared back at him her eyes half-lidded as she whispered his name again.

"Jack."


	2. Untouchable

A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed

_A/N: Thank you to those who reviewed! I'd just like to inform you all that not every drabble will be serious like this one and the last one; trust me, I have some playful little ideas in my whacked mind. _

**Untouchable:**

He watched her from afar, his dark fathomless eyes never leaving her body as she stood by the railing of the _Pearl_, the wind blowing loose locks of hair across her face, the sun casting an orangey pink glow over their surroundings. Nothing could be heard except for the creaking and moaning of the rigging, and the quiet sound of waves lapping over the ship's hull. She was watching as the sun began to dip below the horizon, her lips parted slightly, her eyelids appearing heavy. The essence of beauty stood on the very same deck as him, and he could do nothing but watch her.

For Jack Sparrow knew that the lovely Miss. Swann was off limits; she belonged - no, she _chose_ to stay with the whelp-boy, Will Turner. She was determined to remain loyal to him, to prove to everyone that she really did love him, and that staying on a ship full of rum-soaked pirates did nothing to affect her, not even the mighty Captain Jack Sparrow. But he knew he did have an affect on her, and slowly throughout the past days, he had chiseled new holes through her guard, burying himself underneath her skin deeply, though she had done the same exact thing to him. Their games had become exceedingly dangerous; it was like balancing a sword on one's finger. Either way the sword fell, someone was bound to get hurt.

The wind pulled at her hair, blowing it away from her face. Jack watched in fascination as she withdrew a ribbon from her pocket and pulled her hair back away from her face with ease. The tension that hung in the air each time they came in contact with each other was enough to cause any other man or woman to break, but they both held strong, refusing to be the first to give up, refusing to show any sign of weakness. He enjoyed their games, but yet he loathed them; how would he ever get what he wanted without her pulling back the bait suddenly, only to dance away with it triumphantly? Though half of his mind ensured himself that he was only suffering from a large case of extreme lust, he felt another unused part of his mind telling him that there was something special about the insufferable woman that drove him insane. That half told him that there was something to her persona that matched his, that fit himself perfectly, that perhaps she was one person he wouldn't mind living with forever, and the idea made him snort with annoyance.

After all, Jack Sparrow was a man incapable of loving anyone other than himself and the sea… wasn't he?


	3. A Promise

**A Promise:**

"Which one do you like, love?"

Elizabeth's eyes glazed over Jack's hands that were splayed out before her, the sun catching the jeweled beauties at all the right angles, some creating prisms and beaming off small rainbows. Her eyes swept over them a few times, until one particularly large ring stood out before her; a large deep purple amethyst gem was held in the middle by a thick, silver band, that had a hint of gold to it. The gem was an oval, perfectly smooth, and the ring wrapped comfortably around his pointer finger. Smiling, she pointed to it.

"It's beautiful," she said, a long finger touching the gem. "Where did you get it?" She brought her eyes to his.

Grinning sheepishly, Jack slid the ring off his finger. "I ah, borrowed it from a once very human looking god." He turned it over in his hands.

"You stole it," Elizabeth stated accusingly, though humor was thick in her voice.

"Stole is a harsh word, love. I like to think of it more as early payment for releasing her into her crabby-form," he said carefully.

Gently, his hand took her wrist, and he held up her hand, observing it carefully. Finally, after a long minute, he slipped the ring onto her thumb, and grinned.

Elizabeth's eyes widened and her hand moved to take it off. "Jack, I couldn't-."

His larger hand stopped her. "Keep it. Think of it as a ah… pledge."

She became still, her eyes looking at him with slight suspicion. "What sort of promise did you have in mind?"

The grin on Jack's face grew larger, and leaning in, he whispered into her ear, "A promise that you'll always be my hot-tempered little pirate lass, and only my dishonoring hands may lay a finger on you."

Smiling, Elizabeth turned her head to his ear. "I accept then."


	4. Sleeping Arrangements

_A/N: This takes place mid DMC, to leave out confusion._

**Sleeping Arrangements:**

"Jack, I refuse to sleep down with the crew, and that's final."

Elizabeth watched as the pirate tilted his head up to her, his posture staying the same; leaned backwards comfortably in the chair, his feet propped up onto his desk, Jack regarded her for a moment, his eyebrows rising in amusement, betraying his lips that were set in a stern line.

"Miss. Swann, need I remind you that you are on pirate vessel? Indulging you with special treatment sounds naught but anything unfair to my hardworking crew, wouldn't you agree?" he questioned, obviously enjoying the fact that Elizabeth was beginning to grow red with frustration.

She walked towards the desk, her hands coming down on it so she could lean her weight on it. "Sleeping down there with those scoundrels is hardly anything fair to the only female on this bloody ship," she hissed. "There must be some cabin for me to stay in." Her tone softened slightly. "Please, Jack."

Jack's lips turned upwards into a sly smile. "Well Lizzie," he said mischievously, "if you're so keen to sleep in a cabin, you can always share one with dear Captain Jack Sparrow; there is always enough room in me bed for a beautiful bonnie lass."

He watched as her lips thinned and her cheeks turn light red, her back straightening as she leaned back away from him. "By a cabin, I mean one that is not inhabited by a drunken idiot."

The smirk on Jack's face fell slightly. "Many a women would dream to share a bed with on such as myself. You're giving up on a great opportunity love."

Elizabeth scoffed.

"I suppose there might be another cabin," Jack mused. "But I believe it's inhabited by weevils, and I could never bring meself to throw them out of their home." He looked at her with innocent eyes. "After all love, they were there first."

"You're insufferable!" Elizabeth exclaimed in exasperation. Turning, she stormed out of his cabin, planning to find an empty cabin on her own as Jack watched her go, his grin broadening.

"Poor naïve Lizzie," he murmured, "One day she'll come over to my side."


	5. Foolishness

A/N: Feedback is welcomed.

**Foolishness**:

It is unthinkable.

It is absurd for her to think that she could ever look upon him again, without thinking of that single moment in time, a moment suspended between the two keeping them at a distance from one another; her perfidy, their kiss, his death.

It is impossible for her to picture him, to picture his obsidian, pellucid, eyes without recalling the way he once looked at her; humorous dancing crystals that were forever lined with a black line of perfervid desire, a yearning that always made hidden, secret recesses of her body hot with desire. Those once warming eyes now look at her with either feverish disdain or phlegmatic indifference, a coldness that startles her each time, causing her to flee the area immediately.

It is not a surprise that every time her gaze falls upon his lean, figure that her mind recalls the moment her body collided against his, her palms running down his arms, her mind set on both her task and the breath-taking way his body felt against hers, warm and firm.

And it would be unrealistic for her to tell herself that she could look at his rough, crescent lips without flashing back to the way his mouth tasted, felt, and moved, trapped between her own sensuous lips, overwhelmed with the freedom and yearning she felt.

But what is the most foolish thing she could do, is try to convince herself that she could think of him, his eyes, body, and lips, without his voice slyly snaking its way into her mind, a single word repeating itself in a velvety growl;

_Pirate_.


	6. Atonement

A/N: Thank you for the feedback & support.

**Atonement:**

It is from high above that she watches the _Flying_ _Dutchman_ submerge into the cryptic, obscure, depths of the center of the maelstrom, the white waves overwhelming the vessel in a matter of seconds. Her eyebrows are pinched together in sorrow and anguish, having watched her spouse be slay before her very own eyes, only to be dragged to the shadowy, briny depths of the ocean.

Her face contorts into a look of grief, and she buries her head into the chest of the man she is clinging onto, the man who saved her life, when he could of easily left her to die as retribution for her betrayal.

_Jack_…

He has done it; he has stabbed the heart of Davy Jones, but no, no, not with his own hand. He has done it in an attempt to save her lover, to save Will, despite his own wishes, despite his own desires to sail the earth forevermore. Once again, he has proven her accusation of being a good man correct and as she tightens her grip around him, holding him closer as a console, she tells herself that he did it for her.

_I always knew you were a good man…_

She wants to ask him why he did it, why he became her savoir once again, why he is always there for her, but she cannot bring herself to do it. Instead, she whispers two words he has been waiting for since his rescue.

"_I'm sorry_."

And he accepts them.


	7. A Restless Moment

A/N: As you all can tell, I've recently become obsessed with present tense writing… **Feedback**?

**Restless Moments:**

"Jack, stop!" she pleads, giggling hysterically as her hands frantically begin clawing at his, trying to fight off his slender, nimble fingers that have begun wreaking havoc over her body, poking and prodding all of her most vulnerable places.

"I'd rather not," he replies, making light jabs at her sides, his crescent lips curling upwards into the most devious grin. "You see, your laugh is a much more pleasurable sound over the unbearably loud snores you make while slumbering…"

She swats one of his hands away and encircles her fingers around the other. "You scoundrel! How dare you accuse me of such a fowl habit!" Her eyes hazel eyes glimmer magnificently with humor, greatly contrasting against the indignant pout on her lips.

His breath taking, trademark smirk melts onto his lips and he pulls his hand from her grip, squeezing her waist again. "Not an accusation I assure you – the noises you make resemble that of Gibbs with a deceased cat stuck in his throat…"

"Oh really, Captain Sparrow?" Her inquiry is filled with strangled laughs as she tries to defend herself once more.

"Certainly, Captain Swann."

Managing to catch both of his hands once more, she holds them away from her at arms length. Leaning forward until her lips are on his ear, she whispers, "If your trying to get me out of you're bed for the rest of your life, you are decidedly succeeding, _Captain_."

He becomes silent and instead let's out a feverish sigh, tilting his lips to her cheek and kissing it lightly.

"Love, you wouldn't leave me."

"Are you so sure?" She begins to move, sliding off the bed.

His arm snares around her waist and soon his face is looming above hers, filled with amusement and hilarity.

"Yes, my King, I _am_ sure."


	8. The Virtue of Patience

A/N: This is actually a companion piece to another fic – can anyone here guess which fic that is? Winner gets acknowledgment from me for being right!

**The Virtue of Patience:**

Five months, three weeks, and four days since she has last seen him.

Five months, three weeks, and four days since she has begun counting down until this moment, the moment where she will see him once again; she has almost religiously been wishing and yearning for hours to past like seconds, days like minutes, and weeks like hours, chasing time away like a cur would a tabby. The notches of wood that have been dug out of the intricate framework of her doorway have been eagerly carved out each night, one of the few things brightening her days; knowing that she was a moment closer to hearing his deep velvety voice once again, a moment closer to gazing into his fathomless, jet-black irises, it makes her heart race feverishly with excitement.

The warm air around her is filled with a haze of opaque smoke, the smell of tobacco, musk, rum, and beer invading her nostrils with each inhale of oxygen she takes. Her own amber eyes scan the area around her, placing names and titles amongst the various familiar and unfamiliar corsairs and whores that fill the tavern with boisterous laughter, song, and dance; she notices a particularly young and pretty lass sidling up next to an old sea dog, the girls hands playing with the man's waistband. The observer turns her head away in disgust, covering her face with her mug as she takes a deep and well-deserved drink from it.

It stuns the Pirate King by how her own people manage to appall her at times.

She focuses her thoughts on the man she is waiting for, the man who she knows will come and sit beside her and talk with her for hours, only to eagerly take her back to her quarters when it is well past midnight. The man who will rob her of all of her senses, replacing it with only himself; his body, his touch, his smell, his being. He shall set her skin aflame with his ever-so talented lips and hands that will zealously graze about her entire body, leaving no place, no area, no flesh untouched. They will drive each other over the edge in the act of love until neither can handle it any longer, and both will fall to the comfort of the others warm, protective arms, content and satisfied both physically and emotionally.

The woman sighs, eyeing the ring around her finger; five months is always too long.


	9. You Smell Funny

A/N: Response to gealuv's drabble prompt 'that's a new smell'.

**Chapter Nine: You Smell Funny**

"You smell unusual."

Those are the first words he utters when she strides up to the helm that early morning and stands beside him, a breeze wafting over the two and a caressing manner. The first fine wisps of the sunrise peek over the broad horizon, splattering the sky like a canvas with orange and yellow, the crown of the sun rising above the sea. She cocks her head slightly towards him, her eyebrows questioning.

She inquires skeptically, "Is that a compliment?"

Not even taking a moment to consider the question, he firmly responds with a pout, "Nope. Sorry love."

"Last time we were at port, I pilfared a bottle of the finest perfume from a stall, the vendor unaware," she confesses without even a dash of guilt. "How is not to your liking?"

This time he is quiet, contemplating his answer thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving the horizon. When he finally answers, his voice is pensive.

"It just doesn't suit you – it overpowers your usual lovely aroma." He finally turns his head towards her, holding the wheel with only one hand.

She snorts. "Dirt and sweat?"

This elicits a grin onto his face. "Well, yes; that my swan is entirely inevitable, but I was referring to the smell of something far more pleasurable…" He reaches a hand over and takes her wrist, gently tugging her over, his voice growing quieter as he explained. "The smell of the sun…" Her body comes in front of his and he traps her by grabbing the wheel once more, lodging her between the helm and his firm, warm torso. "The wind…" She feels his chin rest atop her shoulder, his breath a ghost of a breeze across her cheek. "And the sea." His voice is a whisper now. "You _are_ the sea, Lizzie-love – don't cover that up with that revolting liquid fabrication they call perfume."

A faint blush pinks her cheeks, his words tugging at her heartstrings.

"You're lucky, Jack Sparrow," she murmurs, "that I am willing to do this only for you.

Alas, his infamous smirk lights his features once more. "Captain love, Captain Jack Sparrow."


	10. Hang The Crew

A/N: Drabble response to **blackpearlsails** prompt 'Advice' on LJ.

**Chapter Ten: Hang the Crew:**

Their bodies lay together in a complex knot of unassailable fervor, their hands clasped between them in a join of dark bronze and pallid ivory. He allows her to treat herself to the endeavor of lightly running her fingers up and down the span of his chest, sweeping across his skin as light as a feather, leaving trails of goose bumps in their wake.

"Dare I be so bold as to give you a piece of advice?" he soon inquires lazily, his eyes of obsidian closed off from the world.

She shifts around until her breasts are against his chest, her face just a few tantalizing inches from his.

"What suggestion is that?"

A smirk curves at the corners of his lips and with deliberate slothfulness he runs a hand up her thigh, eliciting a satisfying gasp from her.

When he speaks again, his voice is the epitome of arrogant smugness. "Next time, love, try to make attempts to keep your lovely little screams to your lovely little self – I've been getting complaints from the crew who are lacking in their sleep due to such shrieks emitting from this very cabin at night." He considers the comment. "Sometimes during the day too, depending on-."

And then she is atop of him, muttering, "Hang the bloody crew," and silencing him with kiss.


	11. Growth Spurt

A/N: Drabble response to gealuv's drabble prompt 'Growing.'

**Chapter Eleven: Growth Spurt**

"You know what, love?"

"Hmm?"

He peels himself from her, disentangling his limbs so he can prop his head up with his hand, lying on his side next to her in a leisurely manner. His face is carved out into a pensive state, his eyes searching her content face.

He flourishes a hand as he begins to talk. "Despite all the shall we say, hardships with you being extremely heavy with child -."

Her eyes snap open, her idyllic face quickly becoming irate in response to the epithet he has placed her in. "It's only been two months you arrogant pirate!"

Quickly amending his statement, he says, "I meant the emotional burden of being heavy with child Bess, not the physical means of it." Her eyes are skeptical and still slightly dilated with annoyance, however she let's them fall once more, her lips pursed lightly.

"As I was saying," he continues hastily, "Ignoring all the rather negative facts of this bout of nine months we shall endure such as the mood swings aplenty, the very strange and absurd eating habits, the random fits of throwing objects-."

Once again she lifts her eyelids to give him a warning glance.

He flashes her an apologetic grin. "Alas, there is some good things to come out of this entire rather long anecdote of our lives."

"And what are those?" she asks.

"Well…" She can feel his eyes running up and down her figure. "If I may be so bold Lizzie…" He swallows once, a grin coming to his lips when he gives a short bark of a laugh. "You've certainly grown in some areas that are most feminine and hold likable qualities…"

She catches on quicker than a cat can pounce a mouse – immediately she is sitting up, her amber irises warning him with a sharp stare.

"You best hold that tongue, Captain Sparrow." Her tone is as dangerous as the sharp end of a sword, though a thin line of humor is concealed beneath it. "Or I shall gladly cut it out."

He pouts.

"Besides," she says after a minute casually, her eyes lightening considerably. "You're not the only one who enjoys some of this new growth spurt."

He's surprised. "Is that so, love?"

She leans towards him, a smirk on her face.

"It is."


	12. Once

A/N: Response to gealuv's drabble prompt 'Once.'

**Chapter Twelve: Once**

It happens when she least expects it.

Her treacherous legs have absently guided her below deck into the innermost bowels of the vessel, a darkly lit area where a wall of crisscrossed boards form holes that smoky bottles are carefully placed into. Hanging the oil lantern she caries with her onto a nearby hook that is brown and sharp with rust, she settles herself down onto a unsturdy barrel that bends slightly under her weight, her murky brown eyes falling captive to the heaviness of her eyelids.

She sits like this in silence for what feels long enough, her mind trying desperately to erase any feelings of treachery or guilt, emotions she obstinately tries to convince herself that she has no reason to endure. It is the sound of the soles of boots hitting the wooden floor of the cellar much later that startles her eyes open and causes her to stand, one hand instinctively flying to her waist.

The hand falls from her scabbard. It is him.

The scant light that the lantern provides dances across the sharp features of his face, casting dark shadows under every curvature making him resemble that of a dangerous predator more than usual. His irises are darker then the heaviest clouds of the worse of storms, a spiraling frenzied hurricane of unreadable musings and emotions. The two stand completely rigid and tense for a time span that seems to stretch on forever.

A silent conversation electrifies the air between them and then she is backing up, unafraid but knowing and he is stalking towards her, each step made with deliberate slowness. It is only when she stumbles back against a beam that he closes the distance between them quickly, his mouth coming down on hers hard and rough.

Her hands have reached up to grab his shoulders, but either in an act to stop him or pull herself towards him, she is not positive of. His tongue pries her lips apart quickly and he is plundering her mouth roughly, stealing her breath and knocking her off her feet. His lips convey a message she is unsure if he realizes, but she feels it – the feeling being betrayed, the anger, the pain, the admiration. It's all there in the way his lips demand the power of hers, the feeling of how his tongue moves with hers and the way his hands hold her face as if it were the most delicate piece of glass in the entire universe that he both wants to throw to the floor and hold and cherish forever.

When he pulls away, his breathing is uneven and ragged. They remain there for a moment, their chests heaving, their eyes closed and foreheads together, their hands stilling clutching the other tightly in a battle to rein in their control. He soon utters a few words to her and then pulls away, leaving the stiff air to fill the void between them again.

_Just this once_.


	13. Scratch

A/N: Dialogue only for this chapter. Still, review?

**Chapter Thirteen: Just a Flesh Wound**

"It's just a scratch."

"Love, it's bleeding rather profusely all over me new boots."

"Perhaps this gives you an excuse to finally lift a finger and wash them then."

"That wasn't the bloody point."

"I shall be fine Jack, stop fretting – look, it's stopping already."

"That's because your hand appears to be covering it."

"It is not."

"Just let me help you, love."

"I do not _need_ any help, Captain Sparrow. I am perfectly capable of treating my own wounds."

"It's a wonder why you aren't then."

"There are matters far more important then this mere little thing."

"Do divulge."

"Well… other crewmembers are in need of medical attention that are in far worse conditions. I saw Johnson with the most severe gash across his-."

"Mrs. Turner, either you get your little stubborn self into that cabin and let me have a looksies or I shall bring you there myself, savvy?"

"I rather doubt that."

"Would you like to find out?"


	14. Whisper

**Chapter Fourteen: Whisper**

White. Everything is white.

It is blinding; any other pigments or colors no matter how subtle or light have been scorched from his mind and his surroundings leaving but that torturous pure light emitting from everywhere, enveloping his field of vision.

And dry. Everything is dry. Not a single drop of water has blessed his surroundings, not even the slightest ghost of a breeze has caressed his face longingly like it once did. An environment devoid of every element and sense; he feels nothing but the heat of the everlasting sun and brittle sand. Tastes have been forgotten except for the bitter dryness of his own tongue and mouth. And all he hears is the deafening silence, save for those few chords, those few words that repetitively whisper in the still air.

They cannot leave his mind, no matter how hard he tries to forget them.

He longs, oh yes, does he long. He aches for the sea to be beneath his feet once more, a fiery seductress that he has no power to tame, but only to respect and desire. His stomach and mouth long for any form of liquid or edible sustenance, no matter how repulsive. Any sound besides his own voice and that whisper are wished for desperately, a half-pray to any god that'll listen to the sinful pirate.

But perhaps the strongest and most needy desire he feels is for her lips to be on his once more.

Her mouth, her hands, her eyes, her voice. Everything about her. Everything drives him towards insanity more then his need for food or the sea. Recollections of her voice, as obstinate and stubborn as the young woman herself run through his thoughts as smoothly as a brush through a head of tresses. Her words, her truths, her lies, they're everything he hears.

Her lips. Soft. Yielding. As addicting as wine and even more so. He still feels their warmth on his own mouth, unpracticed but willing, oh so willing to learn, moving clumsily but strangely passionately against his. He yearns for her, he yearns to kill her in return for her betrayal, to kiss her until she is senseless, to explore the uncharted land that is her body…

His eyelids fall for a moment in frustration, trying to wash away the thoughts that plague his mind.

"My soul I do swear for a kiss."


	15. Orchard of Mines

A/N: This was also posted on LJ. Originally written out of boredom, but edited slightly for postage.

**Chapter Fifteen: Orchard of Mines**

"To love," she reasons with him, "is one of the most dangerous things one could do."

"Mm, how'd manage that one?"

She considers his question. "There are so many ways someone can get hurt during the callous act of loving," she says, more to herself then him. "Whether through broken hearts, denial, or… separation." The final word is spoken with a wince and he reacts unconsciously by running a soothing hand up and down her belly.

Thoughtfully, he replies "I hate to contradict you, but I'd say just the opposite."

"Why?"

"Because…" he waits a beat and the continues almost hesitantly, earnestly, "from experience, trusting is far more dangerous, Elizabeth."

The words are like an ice splinter through her heart and he knows it. But neither can bring themselves to say a thing and moments later, they lapse back into a kiss.


	16. Closer

A/N: :D This is for the recently returned-from-the-dead Zay-la, whom I have talked to for the first time ever now and again! Reviews welcomed, if not encouraged.

**Chapter Sixteen: Closer**

It is too much for him.

Everything about her is overwhelming; she holds a devastating command over his sense of control, tempting him and his body in the most torturous ways. Her tawny hair, like the finest and smoothest Singaporean silks is clenched relentlessly and almost painfully in his hand in his vain attempt to somehow rid himself of a tension that has grasped him ever since she arrived. A set of full, ruddy lips are against his, her tongue invading his mouth in the most sinfully luscious way, afflicting the loveliest form of hell in the moist cavern. Her hands claw at him and his at her with equal fervor.

"_Closer_." Her voice comes out in a strangled demand, but it she who reacts, pushing his coat off his shoulders, her hands grazing down his chest and tugging at the top of his breeches. He concedes desperately, unintelligible noises and words falling from his mouth and into hers like a babbling toddler.

Their breeches puddle at their feet and then, for lacking any better sense of control he fiercely presses her against the cool wood of the cabin wall and then he is holding her, against her, in her, consumed by her, drowning in her. He gets completely lost in her and she is merciless, unintentionally doing everything and anything to make the feeling even more animalistic. Her forehead rests atop of his shoulder, ragged hot puffs of air leaving her flushed smirking lips and caressing his cheek like a flame licking his flesh.

His lips find her ear as their hips meet once more. "Bloody _hell,_ Elizabeth," he groans. That is all he can say before her mouth is demanding his once more, ardent and once again making him lose any train of thought. Between his lips, she manages to mumble a few scarce words.

"Don't talk... just... _ooh_..."


	17. Threat

A/N: A lazy and unimpressive drabble written for blackpearlsail's drabble prompt 'Threat'.

**Chapter Seventeen: Threat**

"_Jack Sparrow, you bloody moronic, insufferable, foolhardy, pirate! Get your bloody arse back here or so help me god I'll run you through with my own bloody cutlass and save Barbossa the hassle!"_

Running a weary hand over his face, Jack took a self-proclaimed much-deserved gulp of rum, avoiding the look of the older man who stood next to him in light humor.

"Well, Jack," Gibbs sighed, his full frame leaning heavily on a barrel of fresh water residing in the dank cargo hold. "What'd you do this time?"

This brought a full pout to the captain's face. "Nothing. I did absolutely nothing, mate. Per usual, that pig headed woman is just overreacting over nothing."

Gibbs merely arched a skeptical eyebrow. A hand fluttered about Jack's face defensively.

"You don't believe me?"

"Sorry, Captain."

"Bloody traitor…"

"What happened?" Gibbs prodded.

Jack scowled. "Oh, alright! I told her… well… you see…" he cast an uneasy glance from side to side and then quietly muttered a brief version of what had happened in an _entirely_ unbiased way, of course. Still, Gibbs' eyes widened slowly in shock as the anecdote unfolded and he drew away fearfully.

"You're a blundering idiot Jack! You didn't really say that to Miss. Swann, did you?"

"You know, I believe calling me such negative things is considered first degree mutiny of the sorts…"

More profanities and obscenities cascaded down into the hold from the upper decks, causing both of the men to wince cowardly. An angry woman was never something to tarry with, but a livid Elizabeth Swann was nigh anything but a bonus, even more fearsome then the saltiest and most fearsome of irate wenches.

Giving Jack a good luck chuck on the shoulder, Gibbs gravely uttered, "Good luck, Captain. That is surely one hurricane you won't be able to find help from the crew for."

Jack sighed, throwing his eyes upwards.

"Thanks, mate. Thanks a whole bloody lot."


	18. Dark Verses Light

A/N: This is not my favorite thing ever, but I decided it was at least worthy of sharing. Reviews welcomed.

**Chapter Eighteen: Dark Verses Light**

He kneels stupefied, unable to do anything but stare while a battle of the ages occurs all around him, death and destruction circling about them chaotically like an malicious hurricane destined by the gods. His eyes, precious gems of black are caught on the site of a woman, _the_ woman, the woman who claws at her beloved's face in agony, her cries of torment and despair piercing his heart one splinter at a time.

A battle of itself rages inside of him; a battle of good and bad, light and dark, right and wrong. A selfish side of him harshly demands that he does it, that he thrusts the blade of his once whole sword into the beating organ in his hands and watch as two beings die whilst he becomes immortal. The idea is tempting, like waving a pipe of opium in front of an addict and questioning if he shall take it.

But another side of him, a side he barely registers or understands himself soothes him with words that there will come another time when it is right. It tells him to give it up now, to give it up not only for the man whose life is hanging on by shear threads, but for the woman who crouches beside him and screams for him.

His eyes look longingly at the woman and it is then he makes his choice.

With the agility of a mountain cat, he cuts through the torrential rain and towards the newly wedded couple. He says something that is incoherent amongst the whistling of the wind and fires of the cannons, taking the dying man's right hand and clenching it in the around the hilt of the sword.

The woman's eyes find his, and for a brief moment a connection so strong it startles them both electrifies the air between them. Her face, mixed with tears of both her own and of the heavens streak down her cheeks, her eyes conveying an overwhelming amount of emotions.

He gives her one last long, analyzing look.

He shall soon realize that he never did it for the dying man, but for the woman who looked at him that very moment.

And then prevailing against his shadowed darker side, he plunges the blade into the heart.


	19. Your Vote

A/N: A once in a shipper's lifetime thing is to write an election day fic, for you never know if you'll still be obsessed four years later with that particular couple.

So happy election day; let us hope that whomever wins election has more brain cells then our current Neanderthal of a moron that runs this country. (Unless, that is, you're a person who doesn't live in the United States. But you can still hope anyway, for the sake of the poor citizens who live here.)

**Chapter Nineteen: Your Vote**

"Captain Sparrow."

The sound of her voice, (oh, _her_ lovely voice) meets his ears with a welcoming brush, each syllable thrumming about his ear softly like the brush of a moth's wings. In an instant he has the capability to remove all the palpable features of weariness from his stance and face and instead replace it with an arrogance that defines him as the man people have always seen.

When he speaks his voice sounds like a stick running across an arm of chimes. "Yes, your majesty? Or do you prefer sire? King works too, although-."

"Jack." Her chrysalis eyes of brown narrow upon his words, her patience wearing as thin as ice. "I have an uncertainty I'd like to clarify, if you could spare me a moment."

His everlasting grin feeds off her words, growing even larger. Making his way down the wooden corridor that leads from the Brethren's Hall and towards her, he says, "Well then, spit it out, love; I haven't got all evening."

He notices her lips purse, causing his body to wriggle with satisfaction.

"I'd like to know as to why you voted for me back there – you must have your own selfish incentives, that I am sure. I believe it is in everyone's best interest to know them before you begin turning your back on us."

A short bark of a laugh leaves his throat. "Turning my back? You're one to talk, darling." He lets the sting make its mark before continuing, "And of course I did it for my own motives, however selfish they may or may not be."

She opens her mouth to interrupt, but he places a finger on her lips, silencing her. "Ah, ah, ah. No. Listen." He draws the digit away. "The fact of the matter, pet, is that you were willing to go to war, and that is what I wanted. Whatever I do next is subjective; that is, I'll do it because I wish to or because it's either my bloody neck or theirs at the moment, savvy?"

She appears disappointed. "There was no other reason behind your selection, then?"

A mouth of ivory and gold glimmers at her. He draws away a few steps, flourishing a hand about.

"Well, you also have quite a way with words; I can imagine you're the only one noisy and bothersome enough to encourage that meek lot into sailing their little boats into the hands of the devil." He turns and makes it a few steps away from her, only to stop and add, "You _do_ have quite the talented mouth love, as I know from first, er, mouth experience. I'd work on that tongue a bit though; you tend to use it too much."

And with that, he strides down the hall and out, leaving the crimson and indignant woman to herself.


	20. Two Sinners

A/N: Based off a song-drabble I sent only to **Zayz** or Zay-la (though she probably fails to remember which that was) a while back; however, I did some **major** changes (including the title). I've tried playing with words a bit more differently here, and hope that is noticed in a positive way. Reviews welcomed.

**Chapter Twenty: Two Sinners**

She is of his nature when the silken threads begin to weave and hang taunt about her mind. The crimson threads are of the darkest sin, errant and of compromising virtue. It weeps from and slickens her body in all of the most hidden places when he presents himself to her; a bronzed figure of sculpted precision, calculating and coy eyes of ebony, and smirk befitting to Eros himself.

Times of when he answers her silent calls are composed of insurmountable amounts torridity and ardor. Skillful hands and fingers know of all the most rewarding places to venture to make her plead and writhe in pleasure beneath him. The talent of their lips and mouths is shared between them, telltale marks of their ability apparent the next morning on their necks, lips, and shoulders. Sensuous murmurs of perverse ideas fall from his mouth and against her ear with the ease of a competent seducer when he lies above her, however at times sounding more delicate then intended.

These thoughts alone of their joined bodies, heated moans, and vehement kisses makes a soft cry leave her lips that are parched and screaming for the presence of his. She hopes to find comfort in a fluid movement that turns her on her side upon her empty bunk, but it is a fruitless attempt. Feeling breathless, she clenches her eyes and mouth shut.

_Damn you, Jack._


	21. Forever Chaste

A/N: Kudos to my friend Marissa for this clever idea. Suggestive humor ahoy, though it is not terrible. **Reviews** are encouraged, folks.

**Chapter Twenty-one: Forever Chaste**

"What _is_ this?"

Jack looks up from his muffled searching of a small, ruby encrusted chest to find Elizabeth holding an odd shaped piece of metal, a quizzical look upon her face. The item in hand has a large metal circle, about a foot and a quarter across with wider strip of leather connecting it from the front to the back of the circle, dipping low. The leather has a large slit through it close to the bottom on both the front and back, and is studded along the edges. About the metal loop is a small lock.

"That, my dear, sweet, naïve Bess," he says gesticulating to the object and pulling away from his scouring of the chest to swagger towards her, "is a chastity belt."

"A chastity belt?" Elizabeth's eyebrows are pinched together.

A smirk laces itself around Jack's lips. Oh, his dear, sweet, naïve Bess _indeed_!

"Aye, love. Back during the ages of gallant, laudable knights and distressed damsels, men used to fix their lasses in one of those before going away for a time. It was meant to prevent said women from bedding other men whilst they were gone." Jack says this all a-matter-of-factly, eyeing the garment with particular distaste.

Elizabeth's hands drop the item in question with disgust, though she leans towards it a bit in morbid curiosity.

"Mmm, I feel the same way love; they're nasty little buggers. Albeit, I did not believe they still used them…"

Elizabeth's nose twitches and then she looks at Jack with a coy smile. "Perhaps I should get one… you do have a rather trying time keeping your-."

"Me mast to me ship? Aye, and with good reason," he says, and he kisses her laughing lips with a grin.


	22. Last Minute

A/N: Oh gosh, well… This was written for the lj blackpearlsails prompt 'Last Minute'. I really haven't a clue how this came forth. Reviews encouraged.

**Chapter Twenty Two: Last Minute:**

"Jack Sparrow, there's a bloody ship coming after us and – _oh_ – and… and..."

"Yes, m'lady?" he prods, his voice as smooth as liquid gold. His mouth continues its ministrations upon her neck with a delicacy that only a skillful lover could posses and slowly, his fingers work against the silver buttons of her trousers.

Elizabeth hisses. "This is hardly the time to be fooling about in the galley where someone could stumble in upon us!" Her voice begins as a resilient shrill and steadily declines to a sharp gasp.

"Ah, but you need not have any worries, sweet Bess. The crew is safely up on deck preparing for battle-."

"That we should be assisting with as well!"

Jack's hand disappears into the shadows of her breeches and between the recesses of her thighs; her breath hitches suddenly and her amber eyes fall shut, her head grateful for hull that she is arched by.

He brings his mouth to her ear, each of his movements languid and purposeful, and harasses the lobe with his warm, humid breath. "Relax, Lizzie. You know as well as I do that Gibbs can handle the crew as well as any captain and that those pompous lobster backs have nothing against the _Pearl_." His tone, meant to placate all sentiments of her sensible worry does not. Instead, it erupts a fire of longing for him even more and she groans in irritation – he has full control over her now, like a puppeteer who holds the all strings above her.

"You're such a damn… fool… oh, god…"

"And you, my liege, are as stubborn as a mule."

Through her choppy breathing, Elizabeth moans, "Oh, shut it," and brings her mouth to his with such vehemence that they both forget the galleon hot in their pursuit and do not recall it until Gibbs staggers upon them.


End file.
